And as for Cameron? Not that I’ve known him that long, but I just can’t connect him and the Talons in my head. Like, it just doesn’t compute. Is it possible that John and Wayne are the bad guys and Cameron is just caught up in it somehow? Does he necessarily have to be all evil? Or, you know, evil at all? He’s always been nice to me.
“You just think he’s pretty,” Serena says.
I snort. “I wasn’t the one batting my eyelashes at him.”
George gives us both the eye. “Just how pretty is this guy anyway?”
Uh-oh. We didn’t finish our conversation in the car after Raven interrupted us, but I don’t want George getting any more jealous than he already is. I can’t deal with that, not now, not with everything else going on. “Not that pretty,” I say. “Nothing compared to you, pretty boy.” And I tickle him in his one ticklish spot (right ribs, halfway up, slightly to the back).
He falls to the floor laughing and Serena piles on top of him too, though she doesn’t know where his spot is, so he winds up tickling her instead. Since she’s ticklish, like, everywhere, soon we’re all just gasping for breath. Gets them every time. Tickling is my secret weapon and an excellent distraction technique. And right now I think we can all use a laugh.
Then Dad bursts through the front door like a really large, really angry pack of wild dogs is after him. Or, I guess, more like a pack of pitchfork-wielding, torch-carrying vampire hunters. Mom’s high-alert alarm must have gone off (she’d kindly been leaving us to our own devices and hanging out in the kitchen) and she comes running in with a knife like she’s going to go all Ginsu on somebody.
“What’s going on, Bob?” she says. “What’s wrong?”
George and Serena and I struggle to get untangled and stand up. The look on his face is really dreadful. Did somebody actually die-die?
“Dr. Jonas is gone,” he says. “Gone.”
George gasps. Mom says, “What do you mean, he’s gone? Gone how?” Which is exactly what I was going to ask. Dr. Musty is ancient. He’s been around for literally eons. What could possibly get the better of him?
“I went by the dig to see if I could help him out since I knew he was going to be out there tonight. When I got there, everything was a shambles. The vault contents were missing, our tools were scattered everywhere, and Dr. Jonas was gone. All I found was this note.” He holds up a piece of paper with “Trespassers” scrawled on it in a heavy hand. Really freaky looking handwriting. And is that a splash of blood in the corner? “I checked his house and his office and he’s nowhere. I think the Carters took him. Or worse.”
Mom stops waving the knife around, which is a good thing. We all kind of stand there for a minute and then Dad says, “I’m going to go after him.” Like he’s Indiana Jones or Nicolas Cage in those “National” whatever movies.
“Dad,” I say, “you’re an accountant”.
“Not anymore I’m not. I’m a historian now and it’s my duty to do what I can to further our mission and find out the truth.”
Even Mom is looking at him like he’s completely lost it, which he totally has. I don’t care if he is a historian. Like that’s going to make anyone quake in their boots. He’s still an accountant at heart. I haven’t even seen John or Wayne yet, but I’d bet anything they’d take one look at Dad and laugh until they peed their pants.
“I’m going with you,” says George.
“What? Are you both totally off your nut?” I look from one to the other and they both just look determined. Not to mention insane. “Mom!” I say, turning to my one (hopefully) sane relative. “Do something!”
Mom puts the knife down and grabs up her purse and starts digging around inside. “Bob, don’t go rushing off like a crazy person just yet. Why don’t we call Mortie? I never thought I’d say these words, but maybe he can help.”
I have no idea how Uncle Mortie could help. I mean, what’s he going to do? Throw lame jokes at the Carters?
33
Uncle Mortie tells Mom to tie Dad to the couch until he gets here and not to let anyone do anything crazy. Which is craziness in itself. Uncle Mortie’s usually the one doing something off the wall, not my dad. I mean, really. It’s Dad. Somewhere, there are demons ice-skating in hell right now.
While waiting on Uncle Mortie, Dad and George spend the time huddled together discussing different approaches with Mom listening in and adding her two cents. Everything they are coming up with sounds completely insane to me:
(a) a full-frontal attack on the main Carter house (Lowell’s) where John and Wayne are probably keeping Dr. Musty (provided he’s still alive—undead … whatever);
(b) a sneak attack in the dead of night (like that makes a difference, I mean, hello, we’re all vampires here); or
(c) trying to round up the various Carter family members they’ve been talking to who weren’t all that happy with John and Wayne, and forming some kind of little mini-vampire militia.
In other words, total bloodbath all the way around. I just hope Uncle Mortie actually does talk some sense into Dad. And George. I don’t want to lose both my dad and my boyfriend in one night and especially not over some ancient nosy vampire geezer. Let’s be honest. He really was trespassing. I’m just glad Dad wasn’t there when they came. Not that I’m happy Dr. Musty was. I’m just saying.
I pour myself a glass of Special K and go looking for some sanity. I find Serena pecking away on my laptop with one hand and twirling and retwirling a hunk of her hair with another. Uh-oh. That’s not good. I haven’t seen her this stressed since the PSATs.
“So, guess you didn’t know what you were getting into when you came, huh?”
She looks up, startled. I forget sometimes that she’s still human and can’t hear me come up behind her. “Yeah. Like I said, you’re all dramarama now.”
I guess I can’t argue. We’ve got like a vampire soap opera going on here. That crazy Harriet Melman author lady Uncle Mortie is pals with should write a book about us, but we’re probably still too tame for her.
I perch on my desk next to the laptop and take a sip of my Special K. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Are you sure about that?” I reach over and untwist her hair. She drops her hand. Guilty.
“No.” She puts her hand up to her hair again and then grabs my hand instead. “Honestly, Min, this is all kind of freaking me out. Some girl I don’t even really know wants to kill me, that weird vampire guy your dad works for might have a stake through his heart or something, I’m supposed to be making a list of reasons to turn for class, and every time I see you drinking blood it makes me gag.”
“Oh,” I stare down at the glass. “Sorry. I can drink this in the kitchen. I didn’t even think about it.” I guess the whole blood thing is starting to seem normal to me after all. I stick the glass behind a picture. (It’s the one of the four of us at prom. I’m sure the Josh-erator would have something to say about me having that pic out front and center, but he’s not here, is he?)
“It’s okay,” she says. “You go ahead. I guess I need to get used to it.” She grabs the glass using as few fingers as possible and hands it back to me. She looks positively green.
I take the glass but set it back behind the picture again.
“I’ll drink it later. Don’t worry about it, okay?” I need to take her mind off the red stuff before she gets sick. “So, what were you up to? You looked awfully intense when I came in.”
She looks a little guilty. “I was just e-mailing Nathan.”
I almost say “it’s about time,” but then I remember I probably wasn’t supposed to have seen any of the bazillion messages she had from him. So I just say, “Good.” Then my big mouth decides to take over anyway. “Do you love him? ’Cause it sure seems like he loves you.”
She either doesn’t notice my slip up or figures I’m just intuitive. As if. “I don’t know. I think so. Maybe.” Then she gets a couple of tears in her eyes, which is serious business. “Yeah, I think I do.”
I give her a big hug and don’t say anything else. Honestly, I’m not even sure what I should say anyway. Where’s Hallmark when you need them? Whoever they are.
“Do you think Nathan would turn?” she says into my shoulder.
“Um,” I say. I totally can’t see Golden Boy doing the bloodsucking vampire thing. I could be wrong, but it’s really hard to picture. That’s like Uncle Mortie being a swimsuit model. Of course, I never thought Dad would go all Indiana Jones on me either, so hey.
I rest my chin on top her head and sigh. If Serena turns just because she thinks I want her to, I’d hate myself for the rest of my (undead) life. And that’d be a very, very long time.
“Just remember,” I say, “you have to do what’s right for you. Don’t turn for anyone else. Not even me. Or Nathan. You have to make the right choice for you. I mean, not that I don’t want you to be a bloodsucking freak with me for eternity”—ooops, maybe I should have left the blood part out—“but if it’s not right for you, I’d understand. I just want you to be happy.” There. Now I’ve gone all after-school special. It really hurts me to say it, but it’s true.
“I think I understand now why you had to think about it so hard. I didn’t get it before.”
“It’s not a little decision. We’re talking about the rest of your life. Or death.” Whatever. Maybe I should see if Mom can talk to her. She’s better at this stuff than I am. And hey, she is her sponsor.
My cell phone rings. It can pretty much only be one person that I can think of, since everyone else who even knows my number is currently in the house with me or probably asleep.
“Cameron?”
“Mina,” he whispers, “is your dad there?”
“Yes.” Wait. Should I have told him that? “Why are you whispering?”
“I can’t explain now, but tell him not to go to work tomorrow.”
“Cameron—”
There’s some kind of muffled noise on the other end of the phone. “I have to go.” Then he hangs up.
“What did he say?” asks Serena, and I hear Mom ask the same thing from the other room. No privacy at all, I tell you. I’m surprised Mom didn’t butt in with some advice for Serena.
“He said Dad should stay home tomorrow.” I guess that confirms that the Carters do have Dr. Jonas. Or they did something to him. Once again, glad Dad wasn’t there at the wrong time. Or the wrong place. I can’t believe Cameron’s wrapped up in all this madness.
“Girls, come back in the living room,” says Mom. “Mortie’s almost here.” Wow, Mom’s hearing must be even better than mine. I can hear Uncle Mortie’s big old boat of a car. (Can you believe he bought another huge Cadillac? At least this one isn’t yellow and it is a convertible. That’s a step in the right direction.) It’s barreling down the street (the phrase “bat out of hell” comes to mind), but I didn’t hear it before she said anything. I wonder if you can train your ears to get better?
We join the rest of the party in the living room and wait for Uncle Mortie to come in. Dad looks tense. George’s eyes are so dark blue they are almost purple again, which is not a good sign. Serena just looks pale and worried. I probably look the same, except probably even paler.
Uncle Mortie’s car screeches to a halt outside the house and literally, like two seconds later he bursts in through the door. Wearing a purple velvet smoking jacket. The New Orleans vibe must be taking over (at least there’s no boa).
“Okay,” he says, “I’m here. Let the butt kicking commence!”
And so much for him being the voice of reason.
George, Dad, and Mom all start talking at once.
“Wait!” I yell. “Are you guys absolutely crazy? There are, like, a bazillion Carters. If they’ve got Dr. Jonas, he’s probably at Lowell’s where everyone has been hanging out. Not to mention John and Wayne. There’s no way the three of you could go in there, fangs blaring, and not get totally creamed.”
“Hey—” says Uncle Mortie.
“Oh, come on, you guys! They, like, kill people for breakfast! Literally! I’m sure they’d have no problem sticking a stake in you or testing out some of their decapitation booby traps. And Dad, you don’t even like to kill spiders!”
“They squish,” says Dad kinda lamely. Case in point.
“So what’s your suggestion?” asks Mom.
“Can we at least wait until I talk to Cameron and try and find out what’s going on?”
“Who’s Cameron?” asks Uncle Mortie.
“Some pretty-boy vampire Mina’s supposedly not dating,” says George, looking right at me. “Who’s secretly a Black Talon along with the rest of them.”
“We don’t know that!” I shout. “Not for sure …”
“O-o-kay, and we should trust him why?” asks Uncle Mortie.
I glare at George. “He did call to warn us. Unless the Carters saw Dad go by the site earlier, they don’t even know that we know about Dr. Jonas, right? If Cameron hadn’t called, Dad could have just shown up for work tomorrow and been ambushed with no clue.” That’s got to be a check mark on the plus side, right?
Mom nods. “That’s true.” At least I’ve got their attention.
“And he was whispering and trying to be quiet, so he was hiding the fact that he was calling me to give the warning. Doesn’t that sound like he’s on our side? At least partially?”
“He seemed really nice when I met him,” adds Serena, which doesn’t exactly help my case, since she looks starstruck just thinking about him.
“Just let me talk to Cameron and make sure that Dr. Jonas is still alive or undead or whatever and you’re not going all commando for no reason. I’ll see him in the morning at school. First thing. It’s already after 2:00 a.m. A few more hours won’t hurt, right?”
Everyone finally agrees and Serena sacks out, looking like death warmed over. I doubt if she’ll even make it to school tomorrow. I think the decapitation talk really finished her off.
The rest of us spend the remaining hours until school listening to Uncle Mortie concoct one insane scheme after another. I just keep staring at the clock and worrying. Why couldn’t Dad have just stayed an accountant? It’s not like tax time is that bad. And it only comes once a year. And nobody ever wants to kill you.
Crazy historians.
34
Did I mention that today happens to be Friday? Homecoming day? When I get to school, there’s a cow wandering around out front in a makeshift pen (Baby, presumably), and everyone walking by is feeding her (him? it?) something. I hope it’s actual cow food and not anything from the cafeteria. The decorating fairies (Henny and company, I’m sure) have attacked and the whole school is decked out in blue and gold streamers and balloons. They take homecoming very seriously here.
Homeroom is basically a lost cause. Serena managed to wake up for school, but she nearly falls asleep again as everyone around us talks about nothing except the homecoming game (which “of course” we’ll win), Baby (who has apparently favored the southern goal post area in past years), and the Homecoming Court (Grady is a given, naturally).
Mrs. Hebert passes out the ballots to us for voting on king and queen. I hadn’t paid much attention to the whole thing at all this year (I’ve had bigger things to think about, hello), so I just write in Grady (might as well) and put Henny down for the heck of it. There’s no way I’m voting for Kacie, even if she is the odds-on favorite.
First period has been replaced with a pep rally. They might as well have canceled the whole day instead of just half of it since everyone is in some kind of football coma. I finally see my chance to grab Cameron and talk to him as we all file in to the gym. He’s easy enough to spot—just look where all the other girls are staring and it’s either him or Grady. And since Grady is with the rest of the class officers in the center of the gym, that makes it even easier.
Serena stumbles after me and we go sit by Cameron, who is (luckily for me) in the very top row of the very far left corner of the gym. Even the girls who would love to
drool all over him are into the pep rally enough to be closer to the court, so that leaves just us.
“So you want to give me some clue as to what’s up?” I ask.
“Your Dad didn’t go to work, right?” Cameron looks a little anxious.
“Nope,” I say. “And he’d really like to know why. And why Dr. Jonas wasn’t there when he called to say he wasn’t coming.” I’m glad I was practicing my whole new agey deep breathing stuff. I’m pretty sure he won’t be able to tell I’m lying. Of course, it’s harder to tell with vampires anyway. With humans you can mostly tell by the pulse. And the sweat. Luckily Serena’s too tired to be giving much of anything away.
“I really shouldn’t say anything. I shouldn’t have called you to begin with.”
“But you did,” I point out. “I know Dad and Dr. Jonas were researching the Carters and digging up some old stuff. I’m guessing they dug up something they weren’t supposed to?”
He looks around all nervous. I don’t see Lowell with the rest of the teachers, but even if he was down there I don’t think he could hear us over the roar of “Go, Cougars!” and the stomping and clapping. Cameron finally leans forward to whisper in my ear. “They took Dr. Jonas to try and talk some sense into him.”
“Took him? Talk some sense into him? Like what kind of sense? What kind of talking?”
Cameron looks really unhappy. I feel a little guilty, but I shift closer to make sure that stupid itchy wire I’m wearing again actually picks up what he’s saying so it’ll be all official if he does give some incriminating evidence. Serena leans forward too, but winds up yawning. I swear, even life or death situations aren’t enough to keep her awake when she hasn’t had enough sleep.
“Lowell is ‘talking’ to him.”
Oh. Lowell. That does explain why he’s not at the pep rally. I bet I know what that means too. Lowell’s not exactly a stunning conversationalist. He’s more the mentalist. He’s probably using some Jedi mind tricks on Dr. Musty. I hope the old geezer’s brain can hold out. Otherwise, the gig is up. Suddenly, the wire feels really heavy and itchy. And obvious. I resist the urge to scratch it or check to make sure it’s not poking out somewhere.
Still Sucks to Be Me: More All-True Confessions of Mina Hamilton, Teen Vampire Page 19
